Pull Trigger, Go Bang
by Ammertofall
Summary: This is a story about an ork. An ork with a really big gun…
1. Chapter 1

**Pull Trigger, Go Bang**

**Chapter 1**

_Whether under the cover of eternal darkness or the light of the brightest of suns, the tide will wash over every world. Remorseless. Unrelenting. Unyielding. It is only a matter of time before the grog runs out. _

"GgggnaaaahhhHHHOOooww!"

Dulfud woke with a guttural cry and peeled his eyes open to watch his big toe casually rolling across the floor. The raucous noise that had broken his drunken sleep throughout the night suddenly ceased. He scanned the frozen faces around the room, rage quickly replacing the excruciating pain and shock that would understandably accompany having one of your digits severed whilst asleep. The booze-up had lasted all the way through to sunrise, and the grog was still flowing, but now no-one was drinking, no-one was moving. Dulfud hopped out of his bunk growling, as he looked again at his foot which was now oozing thick dark blood through the gaps in the floorboards.

"Right…Ooodunnit?"

He towered over the rest of them, seething. Someone was going to pay.

The previous night, Dulfud had returned from a small campaign against some crafty oomans attempting to tap into the fuel reserves on one of the neighbouring planets. Right under their noses, no less. The retribution was swift, and predictably brutal, as they overwhelmed the Imperials without warning. Dulfud had been buoyed at the prospect of a real fight after what felt like an age languishing on the sidelines. The Imperials were ill-equipped for the onslaught, and barely even able to get a single shot away before a green tide washed over them. The majority of the Blood Axez decided against using their shoota's for the melee, rather opting for the more up-close and personal touch of choppa's, fists and shouting. Dulfud himself, took out months of bottled up aggression on the head of a tough-looking ooman, pounding him into the ground like a tent peg as volleys of imperial lasfire bounced harmlessly off his toughened hide. It was nothing short of a rout, and was celebrated accordingly.

Dulfud's relentless aggression against the invading force had not gone unnoticed. Raucous cheers and jealous sneers from all steps of the pecking order greeted him as he returned to the camp. The current Nob of the caste, Avagohh, was so impressed with his actions during the day that when Dulfud accidentally made eye contact with him, he actually refrained from punching him in the face. It was an unprecedented display of respect from a monster of an ork with a penchant for manual limb removal as punishment for minor misdemeanors. Dulfud swelled with pride that night. It was a strangely unsettling feeling which he decided to quickly suppress with copious amounts of grog and a punch-up.

"Oooo – bloody -dunnit? Come on, own up now fellas."

The slightly gentler tone he'd adopted wasn't fooling any of the suspects. They knew that one false glance, movement, or noise could result in death…if they were lucky, and worse if they were not. Dulfud's reputation for bursts of extreme and bloody violence preceded him, and the fact that he was not armed, mostly naked and missing a toe did little to diminish this.

"I'm gonna count to free…"

"I dint know you could do that, Dul…"

Loostoof tried vainly to turn back time by around five seconds, reminding himself to keep his big mouth shut should he manage to do so. Dulfud loomed over Loostoof, clamping a meaty hand firmly around his throat.

"You know anyfing about dis?"

"Wossat, Dul?" Loostoof enquired innocently.

"Wossat? WOSSAT! I am standin ere, right?"

"Right"

"An my toe is over dere" Dulfud said as he pointed to his newly-departed digit.

"Right, Dulfud" choked Loostoof as he felt the grip tighten around his neck.

"You don't see any problem wiv dat?"

Loostoof began to see black spots in front of his eyes.

"Well, yeah. I fink I see your point" he spluttered.

Some of the other orks in the room began to get their blood up. They could smell a fight brewing.

"So I wanna know oooooodunnit?"

Mudrick the Grot chose this moment to drop the machete he had been trying desperately to obscure behind his back, smile nervously at Dulfud, and disappear out the door. The roar that emanated from the room behind him sent his adrenaline through the roof as he scampered down the muddied pathways that meandered through the camp. It was at this point that Mudrick decided that he would need to work on his spinning-gyro-machete-death move in a more controlled environment before being a show off again.

Dulfud pursued Mudrick with a fervor but his missing toe affected his balance, as he bounced off walls, empty barrels and canvas alike. This roused the tempers of the hungover denizens and the attentions of the still drunk, as heads poked out of tent flaps and hut doors to see the commotion.

"You little…"

Dulfud watched the slight figure of Mudrick disappear around another corner at lightning speed, but doggedly continued after him. The ground was slick from heavy rain through the night. Dulfud could not get enough purchase as he raced around one particular corner and lost his footing.

The patrons of Grunkka's Groghouse were not overly surprised at a head coming bursting through the side of the shack, though it was more usual to see their fellow orks leaving the bar in that manner. Dulfud tried to wrench his head free, but found himself stuck fast in the shattered wooden boards. He struggled for a few moments until the landlord, Grunkka obligingly aided his predicament by headbutting him free. After shaking off the mild concussion, Dulfud continued to scramble wildly around the camp in search of the gretchin culprit.

"Where are you, runt? I'm gonna rip your bloody arms off!" Dulfud fumed.

Mudrick unsurpirisingly did not answer, as he cowered in a half full barrel of unnamable waste material. He held his breath and submerged himself under the surface of the black sludge.

"I know you come down vis alley. I'll findja, Mud, dere's no way out."

Dulfud stalked the alleyway, searching under boxes and in the barrels that lined it. Though the morning was dull, it was still bright enough to see the Grot footsteps in the mud that led to the barrel in which Mudrick hid. Dulfud lifted the lid and plunged his hand into the blackness. He experienced a sharp pain in his hand, and lifted it out to find himself attached to what appeared to be a lump of black slime with teeth. After grabbing what Dulfud approximated to be the scruff of its neck, the teeth loosened their grip.

Mudrick wiped some of the rancid slime off his face.

"I'm guessing it's a little too late for an apology" He said hopefully

Dulfud pondered momentarily before nodding in agreement and dropkicking Mudrick into a different timezone. The satisfaction of the connection overrode the pain he felt shooting up from his foot as Mudrick sailed away into the morning mist. It was punishment enough, and Dulfud was satisfied that Mudrick would have learnt his lesson from this experience. A moment of contentment washed over him as he took a deep lungful of the rancid fumes and black smoke that filled the air.

Brokka was a little taken aback by the sudden appearance of a two grot feet protruding from the surface of his stew, and looked to the sky as though it may offer an answer. It didn't. He shrugged, added seasoning, gave it a stir, and informed the rest of his tent that the stew was no longer suitable for vegetarians

The Blood Axez Clan had been stuck in their camp on the barren world of Gathrog for far too long. Cabin fever had begun to set in, and in-fighting and bickering was becoming extremely widespread*. Warboss Uppakut was all too aware of the potential for his Clan to implode under the weight of its own frustration, but the whole situation was out of his considerably large hands. The Mekboyz had been working overtime on fixing up the dilapidated space hulk Ballbusta under nigh on impossible conditions, and were now finding themselves under regular attacks from the rest of da Clan whilst trying to complete their work. There had been a brief period when the Mekz refused to work at all until the raids ceased. This strike had been organized by the Mekz Onion representative, Dong Fusspot and lasted for two hours, or the length of time it took for the news of the strike to reach Uppakut.

The Mekboyz were now without Onion representation.

For the time being, they were stuck there, and Orks don't do stuck particularly well, so they were pleased to discover a poorly advised Imperial expeditionary force in the vicinity. Their utter annihilation would, based on previous conflicts, precipitate a decisive retribution from the Imperials.

The news of an impending large-scale ruck spread quickly around the camp, and not a moment too soon as the feuding reached critical point. Now, though, they had a focus, something to look forward to. Choppas began to be sharpened, ammo was collected, and blood boiled with anticipation. The in-fighting all but ceased.

So, it came as a bit of a surprise to Dulfud when a meaty green fist sent him sprawling to the mud as he turned the corner.

*It should be noted that Orkish in-fighting and bickering would constitute mass genocide in other races.

Dulfud examined his own blood-stained tooth in his hand, resigned to the fact that this was going to be one of those days where losing body parts would constitute a central theme. At least he'd be able to buy a new slugga with it.

"Get up, you Grot beater. I 'ate bully boyz"

Fodrill Manbiter stood flexing his muscles, whilst his oversized but underbrained cohort, Drubbin looked on with a visage of utter confusion. Drubbin was like a large child, impressionable and easily distracted, but as dangerous as they come if you got within grabbing range. Fudrill was a different prospect entirely. A career Ork with an impressive lineage and an extreme but seemingly unfounded hatred of Dulfud. He was about as close to aristocracy as it was possible for an ork to get.

"Fod, Why don't you just nob off, eh?"

"Yous on my patch, Dulfud. Nobody goes on my patch without my say"

Fodrill puffed out his chest as more orks emerged from their huts to see what was going on.

"If anyone's gonna start stuff round 'ere, it's gonna be me, right?"

Dulfud stood up slowly, still unsteady on his toeless foot. He patted down his sides in the hope of discovering something that could be used as a weapon. Unfortunately, all he had on him was his bedwear, which consisted of a chainmail vest and a pungent loincloth.

"Fodrill, why dontcha do everyone a favour an turn round an run away. Dis ain't your patch. Orks is only quiet cos they don't want Drubbin to break em up"

Dulfud spoke defiantly, despite the fact that it was likely that Fodrill Manbiter would one day be his superior. It wasn't the first time they'd crossed paths. They had history, which stemmed from Fodrill's intolerance towards Dulfud, whom he saw as an outsider. Dulfud was naturally larger, stronger and sharper than the majority of the clan. He was a mob leader in the making, and Fodrill had not ignored this fact. He was a marked ork.

"Face it. You is a larfin stock. How about me an you frow down, wivvout that lump of meat you got dere?"

Dulfud readied himself, as the words organized themselves in Drubbin's head.

"Him callin' Drubbin meat?" Drubbin said as he hoisted his belt. Chains and the skulls of various alien species jangled like a macabre wind-chime around his waist.

"Dat's right, Drubbin. An you remember wot I said to do wen orks make fun of Drubbin?" Fodrill smirked.

After a satellite delay, Drubbin's brow furrowed and he cracked his knuckles. Dulfud noted that the sound was akin that of a tree trunk being snapped in half.

"Squosh?"

"Yeah…Squosh" Fodrill said, looking increasingly smug.

"Im?" Drubbin questioned, as he pointed a thick finger towards Dulfud.

"Yea, Im! Who d'ya fink?"

Orks in the immediate vicinity ensured they put swinging distance between Dulfud and themselves as Drubbin strode forward with his hands outstretched. Fodrill rubbed his hands together with glee in anticipation of Dulfud's imminent demise. Dulfud hopped up on a barrel behind him to put him eye-to-eye with the encroaching beast, making a mental note not to leave the hut again without ample weaponry and armour. He would have to play this very carefully in order to come away with his extremities still attached.

A great arm dropped from a great height at great speed. Dulfud dived out of its way to see the barrel explode below him, the onlookers reeling back from the shower of splinters. He promptly took the opportunity to wind up his fist and land a heavy blow to the side of Drubbin's head whilst his hand was buried deep in the mud. In retrospect, running would have been the better option, as Drubbin shook off the punch and grabbed Dulfud with his free hand, throwing him clean through the walls of several wooden shacks and their inhabitants. It was a scene of instant utter devastation that leveled an entire section of the camp. The disturbed occupants of the shacks roared in anger as they hoisted themselves from the ground, seeking immediate rough justice for the one responsible. Drubbin stood upright and roared back at them with all the rage of a beserker. A cacophony of silence followed before they obligingly let the monster through to finish dismantling his prey. Some even helped cleared a path for him, which Dulfud thought a tad unnecessary.

"Drubbin gonna eat arms off" said Drubbin as he marched over the wreckage towards Dulfud.

"Oi, Fod. You gonna call off this moron, Or am I gonna ave to 'urt im?" Dufud said looking past Drubbin towards his master.

Fodrill burst into raucous laughter, encouraging all around him to do the same.

"You?...An whose army you gonna do dat wiv, exactly?"

"Don't say I dint warn ya"

Dulfud got up from the ground and stood at ease with his arms behind his back until Drubbin got within a couple of paces. He leapt with the power and precision of an astartes, swinging a mealy bag from behind his back and deftly putting it over the giant ork's head. He hopped onto Drubbin's back and pulled the bag taut around his neck. Hellish screams and howls emanated from inside the back as it became apparent that his head was not its only occupant. Drubbin flailed around wildly, and began to furiously beat away at his own head.

"Drubbin, Drubbin! Wot you playin at? Ees on yer back not yer 'ed, dummy"

The call from Fodrill came too late, as Drubbin knocked himself out cold with a precision shot to his chin. The giant ork slumped lifelessly to the ground. Dulfud pulled the bag off his head, and emptied a rather dazed squig onto the floor from it. The squig shuffled off pleased to have had a decent, if well-earned, fill of flesh. Drubbin lay motionless, great chunks removed from his head by the squig's powerful jaws.

"My Drubbin! Wot you done you cheetin grunt? You seen dat everyone? Dirty fightin, dat's wot dat is"

Fodrill protested loudly, but the congregation receded almost as soon as the action ceased. The fight was over, and they all went back to getting themselves sharp for a real battle with the imperials. As the crowd cleared, Dulfud walked angrily over to Fodrill.

"Next time. You want a fight. You do it yaself, Alright?"

Fodrill backed up slightly, but remained defiant as he held his chin high and his chest puffed out.

"We's can go right nah if you want?"

Before Dulfud could respond, a flash of white lit the camp, followed by the deep rumble of a huge explosion on the horizon. The Imperials had arrived earlier than expected.

Dulfud sniffed the air, pushing past Fodrill to look at the mushroom cloud forming in the distance.

Man blood would be spilled that night.

Assuming he could find some clothes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"For da last time, you aint going."

"You gonna stop me?"

"You've got work to do 'ere, Krangg. I aint havin you sneakin' off to kill oomans before we get it done."

Krangg looked forlornly out the door of the armory like a grounded child. He watched as smoke spewed relentlessly from war machines on their way to battle. Waaaagh cries sounded from all around the camp, and orks of all shapes and sizes scrambled their way towards the ruck.

"We's gonna miss all da action, Guff"

Krangg punched the wall in frustration, his gauntlet going clean through and connecting heavily with the head of a passing ork.

"You havin' a larf? Dey's seen free Space 'Ulks on da scanna. Dere's gonna be bloomin' loads of oomans comin dahn 'ere."

"You fink?"

"I don't fink. I know. Now, gimme a hand wiv dis. Grab de ovver end, will ya"

Krangg grabbed one end of the frankly enormous, multi-faceted gun that Guff had spent the last few months constructing. Even by ork standards it was a grandiose piece of equipment. Adorned with pipes, buttons and levers, it almost seemed alive as Krangg and Guff picked it up from the workbench. Guff somehow knew that he'd crafted something a bit special.

"Wow. Wot is it?" Krangg scratched his head with his free hand.

"'S a gun. Wotcha fink it is?"

"I ain't seen no gun like dis one. Looks like a pointy ears one"

"Oh no, Krangg. Dis ain't no pointy ears gun, Dis is summink completely different"

"'S bloody 'eavy. Dat's wot it is."

Krangg examined the gun, pulling levers and pushing buttons whilst Guff made finishing touches to the underside of the gun. Then he saw the trigger. It glinted at him, tempting him. He was well aware of the severity of the kicking he'd receive from Guff, but resigned himself to the fact that curiosity would eventually get the better of him anyway. Krangg pulled the trigger.

The ground had already started to shake with war. The Flyboyz of the Deff Squad buzzed overhead, so eager for battle that they'd begun to use orks on the ground and even each other as target practice. As the last of the waaagh machines trundled out of the camp, Dulfud was in the process of ransacking his shack for his lucky helmet.

"Feevin' little….I'm gonna wring their bloody…"

Dulfud never went into battle without his lucky helmet. After all, it had saved his life on two separate occasions.

Once from a stray bolter round hit from behind in the midst of battle from a fellow Blood Axe – whom, to this day, has yet to own up to doing it. The second was due to an ork cannonball that glanced off the top of his head – Dulfud suspected Fodrill Manbiter was behind this one. He tried not to dwell on the fact that both of these close shaves had been a result of green-on-green fire.

So, when Dulfud found his helmet sitting under his bunk and slapped it firmly on his head, it was fitting that he did so the very moment that the roof collapsed on top of him.

Guff brushed himself down and pulled off the monstrous gun that had Krangg pinned to the floor. A cool breeze came through the giant hole in the side of the shack that had not been there moments earlier, as a soot-covered snotling staggered past and dropped face first to the mud. They both sat dazed until the ringing in their ears subsided, admiring the scene before them. The damage was impressive, a good hundred yards or so of utter demolition smouldered in front of them.

"I gotta have anovva go of dat"

"You bloody well isn't, Krangg. You just blowed up half da camp!"

"So?"

Guff clouted Krangg firmly across the back of his head.

"So, Numnut, we's gonna get strung up when da boyz get back."

Both Guff and Krangg jumped slightly, as a voice piped up from the gun.

"Jus' say the oomies done it, Guff!"

"Wot da bloody 'ell was dat?" Krangg said, quickly shuffling backwards.

"Oh I forgot, iss just Clive" Guff said.

A little hand poked through a vent in the side of the gun and waved to Krangg.

"Wot's ee doin in there?"

"Oh, you know. Loadin', Cleanin', Fixin'. But, most of all, ee makes up da speshul mixes."

"Oh yeah, wot do dey do?" Krangg was looking increasingly confused by the whole situation.

"Great big 'oles like dat one, whatcha fink dey do?"

Guff and Krangg picked themselves up and hoisted the gun from the ground between them. It seemed to sing for a moment like the awakening of a new deity, until they realized it was just Clive burning his finger on the barrel.

"De 'oomans ain't gonna know wot hit 'em. Come on, all we needs is to find a biggun' to carry it."

Guff scanned the camp set deep in Da Valley of Da Empty 'Eds. It was nigh on deserted. Only a few scavenging and stealing snots remained, staggering around with huge, gravity-defying bundles of booty from other tents and shacks that they would sell back to their owners on their return. The distant sounds of battle drifted along the thin mist as Guff and Krangg shuffled in the direction of it. It was slow progress, Guff had not factored in the weight of the gun in its design.

"Woss it called?" Krangg enquired.

"Wot?"

"Da gun"

"Well, Clive calls it Funderclap. I don't fink it…"

Guff's words hung ominously in the air. Clive spotted the astartes warrior before the others and gave a stifled yelp. The silent monster stood before them with a bolter trained on each of the orks. Guff and Krangg looked to each other, pondering the possibility of using Funderclap on him. They wouldn't have come close to even getting a shot off.

So, as they squinted in preparation of their impending doom, it was an unexpected reprieve to see the marine's head divided into two equal pieces in a shower of crimson. As the marine's lifeless body slumped to the ground, a large ork took the place where he was standing.

It was love at first sight. Dulfud glared amorously at Funderclap as it glinted in the breaking morning sunshine, making Clive feel extremely nervous. Under normal circumstances, he would have been performing a rather ungainly victory dance over the ease at which he'd dispatched one of the emperor's elite, but the sight of this most magnificent of guns made him forget himself.

"You wanna go?" Krangg said nervously to Dulfud, acutely aware that he was addressing a big ork with fresh blood on his hands.

"Wossit do?" Dulfud asked with child-like bewilderment.

"Makes big 'oles in fings, whatcha fink?"

Dulfud bared his single tusk and growled at Krangg. With one deft movement, he wrenched Funderclap from the hands of Guff and Krangg. They had to admit, it suited Dulfud. He swung it round as though it bore no weight, aiming its many assorted barrels at invisible targets all around him. It was nothing short of poetic, a perfect union between beast and machine. Souls aligned. The sun seemed to brighten. Angelic voices would have most probably sang out, but for the fear of getting shot out of the sky by a big, stupid ork

"Oi, pack it in!" a shrill voice cried from the gun.

"Iss talkin'! Why's it talkin'?" Dulfud exclaimed as he dropped the monstrous gun directly onto Krangg's foot.

"Gnnfffgg" Krangg replied.

At that moment, a side hatch on thunderclap hissed opened and a slightly disorientated snotling stumbled out.

"Meet Clive, ee's da loada."

Guff introduced Clive, who shook himself down and kicked Dulfud firmly in the shin.

"Dat's for bein' a big dummy. How'd you like it if I shook you about?" Clive said confidently. Dulfud picked up Clive by the scruff of his neck and brought him up to eye level. Clive raised an authoritative eyebrow, making Dulfud reconsider his intention of eating him. He wasn't that hungry anyway.

"Well, aint yous a pair? Krangg, I fink we's found our gunna."

Guff nodded sagely as he looked upon the rightful bearer of his handiwork, whilst Krangg struggled desperately to get Funderclap off his foot.

"Gnnnnffggg"

A quiet hung ominously in the air of the camp. It was the kind of quiet that was invariably the precursor to a big ruck. Dulfud could smell what lay ahead as he and his new entourage deftly navigated through the muddy tracks towards the edge of the camp. He halted the group as he peered around a corner and whispered back to Guff and Krangg.

"Where's you guns, boyz?"

He was met with blank looks and a token patting down of armour. Dulfud shook his head.

"Right. Dere's a bunch of oomans round da corner in da main square. Yous gonna run at em an cause a destruction, right? Get em to follow, Den I'm gonna shoot em when dey's in da middle, right?"

"Er, wrong!" Guff said vehemently. "What kinda mugs you fink we are? You want us to run at mareens wiv just fists? I don't fink so"

"Come on, Guff. It'll be fun! Like olden times. I int seen a ruck in ages. C'mon" Krangg looked pleadingly at Guff.

"Don't you start…Right, OK, how many is dere?"

Dulfud peered round the corner and focused his concentration. Clive was sure he could hear a creaking noise coming from somewhere.

"Some"

"Some?" Guff enquired.

"Yeah, you know…some"

"Not lots den?"

"Wossa difference?"

"Wot between some an lots?"

"Yeah"

"Depends".

Sensing the conversation could go on for some time, Krangg bolted from cover. He hurtled towards the enemy with a look of excitement across his face and a spring in his step. A cluster of astartes warriors clad in ornate armour busied themselves around the docking bay of a landing craft, completely unaware of the approaching ork.

"Woss ee doin'? Clive, cook up a biggun." Dulfud pointed Funderclap towards the landing craft at the very same moment that the first marine sensed Krangg's presence.

"Krangg, Move it!" Guff hollered.

A chorus of bolter fire opened up from the marines and lit up the camp. Krangg changed direction sharply as hot lead peppered the ground around him. Four of the emperor's finest took up the pursuit, and found themselves on open ground. This was mistake that they would soon rue. They all stopped simultaneously as they noticed Dulfud stride from the shadows with the kind of weapon they knew not to ignore, but before they could dive back to cover, the noise began.

First, a deep, resonating electrical hum. Then, a whirring sound. Then, a high pitched squeal. Dulfud winced as he felt the power surge, and braced himself for the recoil. Then…nothing. The gun went quiet, and the marines made their way towards Dulfud

"Gimme a minnit" Clive said calmly.

"I hope yous kiddin…"

Suddenly, his world went white. A boom shook him to the core and the very ground quaked beneath him.

Dulfud thought to himself that he'd had a good run, won some battles, lost some battles. Had enough grog to drown a squiggoth. He'd rode his luck on many occasions. He'd been unlucky on even more. But, all in all, he'd enjoyed himself in life. Still, he thought it would have been nice to have had one more ruck.

When the smoke cleared, Dulfud was confused. He was still in one piece, intact, and completely unharmed apart from a slight ringing in his ears – which was usually there most of the time anyway.

The marines, however, were not.

All that remained of them was dust and boots, and not just the ones he was aiming at. All of them were obliterated in the blink of an eye, even their landing craft was transformed into a smoking wreck. The finest warriors the universe had to offer were now blowing away on the morning breeze, along with a decent chunk of the camp.

"Did we get 'em?" Clive said as he tried in vain to peer through the side hatch.

Imperial craft of all shapes and sizes littered the sky as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of drop pods rained down from them, leaving great trails of vapour in their wake. They encountered little resistance from the Blood Axez anti-aircraft unit, as he'd been on the toilet for the majority of the morning.

Dulfud looked on in wonder at the scene; he could feel the adrenaline brewing inside him. Taking a deep slug from his grog pouch, he looked to Funderclap. Clive gave him a thumbs up through his side hatch - there was devastation to be done.

"Iss a 'stermination, you know" Guff said as he emptied marine ashes from his shoe.

"Wossa 'stermination, Guff?"

"'S an unfair ruck, Krangg. You know, like wot we's did on dat 'nid planet"

Krangg searched his memory banks.

"Oh yeah, I 'memba. Da bommin? Dat ain't a ruck, dat's just politiks"

Dulfud and Guff would have raised their eyebrows - if they had any.

"Anyways, dey's not bommin', dey's 'avin a good ole fashun dust up."

Krangg was right, much to the surprise of everyone. Dulfud had wondered why they had not already been incinerated by a barrage of imperial artillery from the unseen destroyer ships that were no doubt orbiting the planet. It was too bold. Too risky. Too orky. They were here to fight man-to-ork, which meant that they wanted the planet; or something on it.

The sodden ground squelched beneath their feet, and was preventing Dulfud's toe from regenerating. That, combined with the extra weight from Funderclap, was making progress very slow as they trudged their way through the camp. Guff and Krangg had managed to procure some surprisingly high-quality bolters from an abandoned tent; its occupants clearly a little too keen to throw themselves into the foray.

The sneaking around was becoming tedious for them all, but with imperial drop pods landing all around them and the rest of the Blood Axez drawn away by the heat of the main battle, they knew their best option was to stay low. With the camp now completely surrounded, and beginning to bustle with imperial personnel and machinery, they held their ground behind some barrels and watched intently.

Guff held tightly onto Krangg's collar, fully aware of his propensity to mindlessly bolt towards the enemy. A number of attack plans ran through Dulfud's head, none of which deviated from the idea of running at the enemy and shooting wildly. He snapped quickly out of his zone of contemplation when a waft of thick smoke hit his nostrils.

"I got jus' the mix for 'dis" said the voice from the gun.

Dulfud sniffed the air, following the scent to the side hatch on Funderclap.

"You smokin'?" he said incredulously.

"Yeah. Wossit to you?"

"Int you got gunpowda n' stuff in dere?"

"Yeah, an stuff much stronger, Why?"

"Well, innit a bit, ya know, dangeriss?"

Another plume of pipe smoke billowed from the vents.

"Tell you wot, you spend all day stuck inside a big gun wivvout nuffink to do but mix powders. I gotta do summink to stop me dyin from bein bored. 'Sides, I knows wot I'm doin"

"Yeah, tryin' to get us all killed" Guff mumbled under his breath as he surveyed the scene.

The imperial forces swarmed the area. It was apparent that they were using the camp as a rendezvous to mount a surprise attack on any returning ork forces, and most likely to disable the space hulk, Ballbusta that loomed menacingly on the southern outskirts of the camp.

Dulfud cast a beady eye on the scene. He quietly hoped that Warboss Uppakut and his 'Ard Boyz would make an impromptu return to the camp, though he knew that was an impossible scenario considering the frontline action was going on a few miles up the road. They crouched still, waiting for the right moment to attack, apart from Krangg who was still chomping at the bit but bayed by Guff's tight grip on his collar. It was a waiting game, for just the right moment.

"Right, iss sorted" Clive said enthusiastically, snapping them out of their stillness.

"Pull lever two"

Dulfud examined Funderclap's many levers, there didn't appear to be any formal order to their positioning, rather a random scattering. He scratched his head.

"Da one wiv da skull and crossbones, Dummy".

Dulfud grasped the lever, choosing to address the issue of Clive's derogatory insults till another time. Funderclap whirred as he cranked it firmly to the 'onn' position, several of its barrels simultaneously sprang outwards and began to rotate around the larger central barrel. Clive gave a thumbs up through the side hatch.

"'S time boyz"

The three strode out from cover confidently, possibly even casually. Guff and Krangg cocked their bolters and flanked Dulfud. Funderclap's barrels rotated faster as they closed in on the enemy, almost sensing the tension of impending battle. A lone guardsman working on the bio-tubes of a dreadnaught was the first to spot the trio and dropped his wrench to the floor. In a matter of moments, around a hundred imperial barrels were trained on the trio. But, before they could act, Dulfud pulled the trigger.

"Yous gonna love dis boyz" Clive hollered over the whirring barrels as he donned a pair of goggles.

There was a brief moment, as the orks were striding forward, where time appeared to stand still. The thud of imperial boots springing into action seemed muffled, the dirt rising in slow motion.

It was apparent from the look of sheer horror on Captain Greyblade's face that he was not expecting such a small party of orks to cause such an expanse of devastation on his troop. These were, after all, warriors who'd been with him through many a campaign without so much as a scratch on their pristine armour. It was to his dismay that he found himself in retreat whilst these proud executors of the Emperor's will disintegrated around him. Yet, despite his grief and utter shame of his hasty withdrawal from a battle with his men dead and dying at the hands of such primitive beasts, only one thought filled his mind…

'I want that gun'

"Gaaaarrrgh"

Dulfud's beady eyes lit with glee as the spinning barrels of Funderclap reaped a devastation rarely bestowed upon such an imposing Imperial faction. His brawny arms quaked under the immense recoil, and the barrels glowed white as they spat out death at an alarming rate. Guff and Krangg reeled from the heat given off from their ruinous creation, but were still able to pick off the Imperial troops that were quick enough to attempt to flee the inferno with a hail of aimless fire.

"I noo today was gonna be a goodun" Dulfud roared above the screaming gun.

The world quaked and the air filled with the howls of the damned, as Dulfud caught tens of unfortunate souls in his trajectory. The few survivors fled swiftly into the dark recesses of the ork camp - not the place for any human at the best of times, but particularly not if you're wearing nice shiny armour that could be traded for enough grog to last a lifetime.

As the fireworks dissipated, and Funderclap's barrels closed back in, a morbid silence filled the air. Dulfud spat to the floor defiantly, expectant of a retaliation that was not to come. Black smoke rose to the sky from the charred remains before them. The reek of burnt flesh reminded Krangg that he hadn't yet had breakfast, and his stomach rumbled.

"Dat was magic" Guff said as he looked on in awe.

"Actually Guff, I fink you'll find dat it was two parts gunpowder, one part plasma, free parts diesel, and a twist of summink speshul. Magic couldn't do nuffink as good as dat" replied the voice from the gun.

"Load annover one up Clive". Dulfud surveyed the carnage and quickly decided that he wanted more.

"You is kiddin' me aint ya?" A pointy nose stuck through Funderclap's side vent. "You can't just keep shootin' all da time, you'll break it"

"Whatcha mean?" Dulfud scanned the gun "looks awight to me"

"It's red 'ot. You need to let it cool down for a bit"

"No iss not" Krangg lurched forward and placed a hand on the main barrel.

The smell of seared ork hit their nostrils simultaneously as Krangg pulled away from the gun, leaving behind several layers of skin.

"When you gonna learn?" Guff said as Krangg frantically searched for something to douse his still smouldering hand.

The rumble of ork war machines returning to camp was music to their ears. The buzz of bi-planes overhead and the roars of victory grew louder as the warband returned from an unexpectedly successful melee. The months without action had fired them up to the point of insanity - or whatever you would call the next step up from that - and the Imperials were too scattered to mount a successful offence. Almost as soon as the Imperial landing craft hit the ground they were swarmed like flies on a servant of Nurgle. Heads rolled that morning… and most other body parts. Someone high up on one of those space hulks had made a colossal mistake. It was a systematic obliteration as a result of tactical idiocy, an embarrassment for the Empire on an epic scale. Warboss Uppakut - naturally at the forefront of the action - even managed to single out the head of the invading force, made him remove his pants, and firmly punted his behind with his size 43's. This was an act fairly representative of the morning's events, though only a handful of Blood Axez had the capacity to appreciate the irony.

"We's gotta hide Funderclap!" Guff announced suddenly.

"Wot? Why?" chorused the rest of the group.

"Fink about it".

A warm breeze passed through Krangg's ears with little obstruction.

"Awight, I'll just tell ya. If da nob's see da wreckin' we's done on da camp, dey's gonna string us up an' nick Funderclap for demselves"

The realisation of the enormity of their predicament took almost an age to sink in.

"You's right, Gufff" Dulfud said breaking the silence.

"It's Guff"

"Wot?"

"It's Guff, not Gufff!"

Dulfud scratched his head.

"Wossit matta?" He said looming menacingly over Guff, who quickly used his well above average ork intellect to deduce that getting into a debate over even such a small matter would most likely result in the loss of an appendage.

"Er, it don't…Gufff it is"

"Right den, where's we gonna 'ide it, Gufff?"

"I reckon da shack is as good a place as any, I got a stash hole"

They moved through the winding pathways with a certain urgency, quickening their pace as the sound of the returning warband grew louder. They knew that Funderclap would draw attention from hungry ork eyes. It was after all, big, shiny and 'spensive. Guff alone saved up several teef to get the materials for its construction.

"Wot about Barry?" said Krangg as he struggled along with Funderclap's ammo bag.

"Don't worry about Barry, if it ain't a burna, he ain't interested" Guff replied

"'Sides ee's probably still out in da field torchin' oomies"

They all entered the shack through the still smouldering gaping hole in the side of it. Guff's workshop doubled as a bunk for clan outcasts and misfits, he had an unorky charitable nature for the destitute which he was bright enough to be able to masquerade as a sick sense of humour.

Guff lifted away a couple of floorboards that covered a roughly dug ditch under the shack.

"Right, stick da gun dahn dere. No-one'll find it" He said as he looked out the window pensively at the returning orks.

Krangg and Dulfud swung the huge gun above the opening in readiness to drop it in, but bayed themselves as the voice from the gun piped up.

"Woah, int you forgettin' summink?"

The now familiar vacant looks met Clive's question.

"You fink you's buryin' me? You can fink again"

Clive's spindly fingers poked through the side vent. Ususally the orks would have ignored the voice and dropped the gun, but Clive had an unnaturally commanding tone for a snotling. They looked to Guff for guidance, but were met with an uncomfortable shrug of the shoulders.

"Clive, I need to tell ya summink" Guff said sheepishly

"I'm listenin'"

"Well, I dunno how to break dis to ya'…"

"Break wot?"

"Clive, I'll just tell ya straight…you is one wiv da gun"

The roar of the returning warband dwindled to a whisper in their ears.

"Dat's straight is it?" Clive replied angrily. "Lemme outta dis fing"

Guff cleared his throat.

"Dat's da fing. You's stuck in dere."

The whisper turned to silence.

"Wot?"

"Da heat from da gun 'as kinda… fused da hatches shut"

Guff shrugged apologetically, which precipitated an understandably blood curdling scream from Clive as he thrashed around inside Funderclap. Dulfud took the initiative in dropping the gun into the ground and replacing the floorboards.

"Let 'im cool off a bit. Ee'll be fine" Dulfud said prophetically.

The timing couldn't have been better, as a slightly toasted Barry strutted back into the shack.

"How's it goin', losers?"

"Barry, er, hi, we woz expectin you back later," Guff said as he moved a squig hide over the floorboards with his boot to further douse Clive's protests.

"No point stayin' out, all da oomies are burnt crispy now. How come you's back so soon?"

Kranng and Dulfud remained silent, having at least the sense to look to Guff for a plausible alibi. Minutes passed.

"Wot's it to you, nosey Burna?" Guff eventually grumbled.

"Alright, only askin," Barry said putting his hands up defensively. "Well you boyz missed a treat, I tell ya."

Barry jumped up onto a table behind him and animatedly regaled a largely fictional story about him taking on a couple of terminator Marines single-handedly. True, Barry was a renowned liar, but he also had a burna in his hands with the pilot light still flickering away, so they thought it best not to challenge the glaring holes in his tale.

Dulfud scoffed noisily.

"Oh yeah, an oo's you anyway?" Barry said to the giant figure sat on a stool in the shadows of the room.

"Dulfud. Not dat it's your business,"

"Really? You is in my shack, dat makes it my business,"

Dulfud stood up, his helmet hitting the rafters with the same noise you get when you hit someone in the face with a large pan. Barry's brought his burna the bear on the stranger and his trigger finger twitched.

"Awright, fightin's done for the day," Guff lied, "Dulfud 'elped us out in a couple of scraps wiv da oomies. Good job n'all, we woz gonners if he hadn't. An' anyways, dis is my shack, you's just lodgin',"

Barry slowly brought down the barrel of his burna, Dulfud mirrored the motion to return to a seating position.

"Awright, let you off dis time, but only 'cos Guff says. But you jus' watch your step round me, cos I'm loco," Barry said widening his beady eyes.

"No you're not, you is Barry," Kranng piped in having finally but fleetingly caught up with the conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Ma-con-re-ground"

Captain Greyblade hit his comms-link off the side of an oil barrel to silence the incessant barrage of broken messages from HQ, the signal floundering as it tried to poke through the dense and choking clouds of smoke that whirled above him. The daylight was now completely obscured by the fumes from ork machinery and burning Imperial wreckage as the Waaargh machines thundered back into camp accompanied by howls and growls of victory from the native force.

Between two shacks, the giant Astartes warrior lay in wait. Surely, only a matter of time before a glint from his armour or a nosey scavenger gave the game away. Greyblade was fine with that, skulking in shadows was not his forte, but if he was going to go out on this torched wasteland of a planet, he'd wait to take as many of the filthy horde with him. The bolter was low on ammo, that didn't matter though, it'd be close quarters fighting. Fists and swords and blood. Fight the orks the ork way, but clean and with discipline. He shrouded himself in an oily sheet left in the guttering. It was rancid. A mist of flies billowed from the folds as he covered himself.

His remaining men had dispersed into the alleys and nooks of the camp after the attack from the orks with the unholy weapon. How many would have escaped the clutches of the returning mob, he did not know. Not many, for sure. They would have, at least, the element of surprise to their advantage, but Greyblade knew orks, their thirst for battle would not have quenched from the morning's melee, merely whetted. They'd be fired up and buoyant, the worst time to fight them. He listened out for echoes of familiar fire, but the noise from the victorious ork guns as they fired indiscriminately into the air and at each other, would have drowned out all but a missile strike landing next to his feet.

A waste of good men on a hurried and badly hatched operation. No surprises there though, it had been a running theme throughout the campaign. Chapter Master Stennson had lead them through a series of audacious assaults that had resulted in the obliteration of at least a third of the guard units. The day's mauling at the hands of the orks would undoubtedly result in a swift retribution with an iron fist. They would come soon, they were too close now.

The coast was clear. Barry had gone, eager to get stuck into the grog and set fire to stuff Dulfud flipped up the floorboard and pulled Funderclap from the dirt. Clive coughed. A little puff of dust shot from the grill on the side of the giant cannon. They took a moment to admire the weapon: shiny, big and dangerous, it took their breath away. A string of drool abseiled from the corner of Kranng's mouth - though this wasn't anything unusual.

"Clive, you still livin'?" Guff said to the gun, giving it a little shake.

"Wossit to you, ya big dope?" Clive said, poking his nose through the grill.

"Listen, we's gonna get you out soon, right,"

"And how, exactly, do you propose to do that?"

Guff scratched his head, and rightly so, the heat generated from Funderclap's devastating blasts seared and set Clive's hatch so well that the only way to get him out would be to dismantle the whole thing and get in through the stock. That wasn't an option as far as Guff was concerned. Putting the thing together was difficult enough in the first place. He couldn't take the chance that he might not be able to do it again.

"Want some grog, Clive?" Guff asked.

"Yes."

Avagohh was one of the first nobs back to the camp. Wearing a particularly grotesque new hat comprising a marine helmet with a marine head still inside, he strode into the main square growling victoriously and beating his chest. Fodrill Manbiter shimmied through the throng to hand him a tankard of some of the less putrid of the grog that was being dished out. He downed it in one, and gave a ground shaking roar that sent the crowd into even more of a frenzy.

"Fellow orks," he bellowed "You's done awright today. But da oomies will be comin' back. Next time, dere'll be even more of 'em,"

They oohed.

"Next time, dey'll 'ave bigga guns,"

They aahed.

"Next time, you's will all get a new hat…jus' like mine."

The cheers shook the very earth beneath them, and the guns chorused again. The Imperials could have blasted the planet to tiny pieces with the ordinance they were packing on the space hulks that skirted Gathrog's stratosphere, but it would have done little to dampen the mood.

Gorrarth would have liked to have said that he was drunk on life, but for the moment, Feakston's XXX was doing the job nicely. He gazed at the charred, smouldering ditch where his shack had stood earlier on in the day and scratched his chin. He would have said that he had developed an emotional attachment for the place if he could string more than two words together, and if he even knew what emotions were. All he wanted was a quick doze before getting back into the celebrations. He slumped backwards against an oil barrel and dropped heavily into the mud. The air was still thick with the smoke of victory, The flashes from the unrelenting slugga fire lit the thick black clouds above him in a charming display of vivid colours. It was ironic that he thought that if he died right now, he'd die a happy ork – because he died.

Kranng stood at the doorway whooping with each explosion and firing his slugga off into the night sky.

"C'mon you borin' gits, it's kickin' off good n' proper out there," He said as Dulfud and Guff continued to paw uselessly over Funderclap in an effort to at least look like they were trying to free Clive.

"Dere's plenty of time for grog, Kranng," Guff said.

"Yeah, fink about poor ole Clive," Dulfud said.

They all peered into the grill on the side of the gun.

"Oh no, don't let me stop you. Go on, get out there, have some fun. I'm fine being welded stuck in this gun because of your stupidity," Clive said with no uncertain amount of sarcasm.

The tone was lost on the trio, as they dropped Funderclap, and Clive, back under the floorboards and bolted out the door for a swift half (barrel).

"Flamin' idiots," Clive said - to himself.

Greyblade pulled the ork's limp body into the darkness, wrapped it in the oily sheet and dragged it into the recesses of the alley. It had the stench of death already, and it wouldn't be long before it would bring scavengers. He eased himself out and skirted the shadows whilst the coast was clear. The orks would be too busy revelling. Sense told him to head in the opposite direction to the throng of noise from the main square, to try and find a way out and find cover in the rocks and crags that rose around the outskirts of the camp, but he felt compelled. He wanted to see his enemy up close, to feed his hatred, and if seen, to go out in a whirlwind of fury. Let them know that their actions will not go unheeded.

The sludge crept through the gaps in his armour from the heavy ground underfoot. Rank and infectious, it coated his ancient feet and legs and made swift movement impossible. The ork dwellings provided decent enough cover, though, with plenty of dark shelter to keep him from plain sight.

The camp was quiet outside of the main square in which the enemy had all congregated to rejoice in their irreverent triumph, but voices coming from the track behind him halted his progress. Ork voices. He darted into deep shadow.

"_Knock it off, Kranng, or I'll knock ya into next week,"_

"_Why? Woss 'appenin' next week,"_

"_Carry on jumpin' about in front of me, I'll show ya,"_

Greyblade gripped the hilt of his sword as the larger of the three paused just metres away from him and sniffed the air. It looked down the alley where he knelt, squinting to try to make out any kind of movement. Greyblade was keen not to oblige, he'd seen enough orks to know a dangerous specimen from the cannon fodder, and behind those eyes was the brain of a natural born predator, a man-killer. Combat with this beast would not be swift and quiet, he thought.

A burst of heavy drums from the main square tore away the monster's gaze.

"_Dulfud, come on, you gotta see 'dis,"_

As the ork disappeared up the track to rejoin its cohorts, Greyblade headed to one of the more solid-looking large outbuildings to get a vantage point on the square. With a deft leap, he grabbed the lip of the roof and hoisted himself upwards. For the first time since landing on Gathrog, he could appreciate the vastness of the camp in its entirety. To cross it, even with the cover of darkness would take hours. There were several large open areas, lit by flame where the foe had grouped together in a frenzied carnival. The one nearest to him, writhed like a swarm of flies around a carcass. A sea of snarling hatred. Without, any distinguishable orders, the orks parted to leave an empty circle in the centre of the arena, roaring and jeering as they did so.

He could tell straightaway that it was Arkenfell from the markings on his armour. Two orks dragged the semi-conscious Marine by the legs into the middle of the open mud-pit. His head was painted with blood, matted into his hair. Greyblade tensed, he fought against his instinct to run to the aid of his fellow warrior from this most heinous indignation, for it would have been folly. A slight relief came as he saw Arkenfell shake himself off and rise to standing. He was a rookie, but had proved a worthy combatant over the course of the campaign. No fear, and wisdom beyond his years, a fine tool to exact the Emporer's bidding. He stretched his neck muscles before looking around at the baying host of misfits that surrounded him. One of the orks broke free from the crowd and made its was cautiously towards Arkenfell passing a battleaxe from hand to hand as it circled him. Greyblade couldn't help but swell with pride in the boy as he raised his fists in readiness for the attack, just like he was back in a training module, cool and emotionless.

The ork circled him, shunning the crowd's advice to charge at him. It was a large but wiry specimen, lean but battle-savvy. As the crowd hushed, it leapt towards the captured Marine, grinning with blood-lust and a taste for glory amongst its peers. Its axe whistled through the air in a downward blow that would have carved through a tree, and buried with a deep thud in the mud where Arkenfell had been stood a second earlier. It didn't even have time to process what had happened before a thunderous crack on its jaw sent the beast flailing through the air to land unconscious in the dirt. Howls of rage screeched from the crowd. The marine remained expressionless, ready to take on whatever they could dish out. Another beast pushed its way through into the clearing, this one taking the less cautious option of a head on charge, whooping and revving its chain fist as it did so. Its first strike sheared Arkenfell's shoulder guard, but left it open to a rupturing counter as the marine brought his knee up to its chin, dropping it in a crumpled heap.

The giant beast sat in the throne on the raised area behind the crowds threw the wooden table in front of it off to the side like it was nothing, shattering it against a bevy of orks, and parted the crowds to face the marine itself. Greyblade had taken too much, he could not lie on the roof any longer. That was one of his men, a righteous soul that deserved not to die at the hands of this filthy mob, but with honor in the field of battle. He pulled a frag grenade from his belt, and stood up to plan his attack. His intercom crackled into life as he readied himself for a giant leap into the throng.

"Don't even think about it, Captain,"

He paused.

"Who's this?"

"It's me, Sir. Arkenfell."

The marine was talking into the brace around his neck and looking up to Greyblade's position.

"Son, I'm going to get you out of there whether you like it or not,"

"With all due respect, Sir, you can kiss my ass if you think you're going to sacrifice yourself for nothing,"

Greyblade laughed. He could have wept, were he not steel of soul.

"Anyway, I'm having fun here,"

"I can see that, soldier,"

"Just do me a favour and do what we came here to do, I don't want to die for nothing,"

"Roger that Arkenfell, Give 'em hell,"

"FOR THE EMPEROR," Arkenfell bellowed above the din.

Greyblade sunk into the darkness, he couldn't watch any longer. He would ensure the boy would be remembered in the chapter archives – assuming he could get of the planet alive.

He blended back into the darkness, destined now to wait for daylight and the second Imperial wave.

Dulfud leant against a wall at the back of the square, tall enough to watch the entertainment above the heads in front of him. True, there was little he liked more than watching marines get squished, but couldn't help but find the display a little unsporting. As he watched the marine's arms being ripped from his sockets by a mildly disgruntled Avagohh, he drew little pleasure. It was just like squishing ants under your thumb. Nothing could compare with the sweet release of battle. For Dulfud, the ruck was the celebration, the blissful feeling of destruction on an even playing field. Head to Head. Toe to Toe. Axe to Brain. Still, there'd be plenty of opportunity for that over the next few days, he could smell it – eau de fracas.

Dulfud threw aside a canteen of maggoty grog and decided to head back to Guff's shack. He just wanted one more look at the wonderful gun, and snuck away whilst Kranng was busy arguing with Guff. On returning to the shack, he was taken aback to see Barry sat in the room holding Funderclap on his knee. Prodding and poking and stroking.

'You take your filfy 'ands of dat gun. Iss mine,' Dulfud roared.

'I knew yoo's were up to summink funny, I could smell it. And now I know why,'

Dulfud took a couple of giant steps towards Barry and snarled. Barry whipped out a revolver from behind his back and took aim between Dulfud's eyes. Carefully, and without breaking gaze, Dulfud raised his hands.

'I'd put dat fing down if I was you, Barry.'

'Oh really, whatcha gonna do?'

'Iss not me you wanna worry about,'

'Well dere's no one else heeeeaaaaaaahhhhhhHHHH,'

Barry screamed, and rightly so. It had been apparent that he had been unaware of the resident inside the gun whilst pawing over its magnificence. Clive had taken the opportunity to grab hold of a conveniently positioned door-knocker sized nipple ring and remove it – along with the nipple it went through. Funderclap fell to the floor taking Barry with it. Dulfud wrenched the revolver from his hand and clocked him across the back of the head. Barry saw stars fade into darkness.

'You took your time, ya great oaf,' said Clive 'I could have been snotnapped,'

'Well, don't worry, I ain't never gonna leave you unattennaded again,' Dulfud said with his hand across where his heart would be if he had one.

'That's easy for you to say.'

Rays of sunlight poked through the gaps in the mountains and illuminated the dense fog that hung in the air from the fires and gunshot that had only abated an hour or so earlier. It was time to move, whilst the orks dozed in their drunken stupor. Greyblade leapt from the rooftop on which he had taken cover to land with a muffled thump in the sticky mud below. He'd watched them all night - those grotesque, rootless creatures - as they passed underneath his nose without a hint of his presence. He imagined tearing each one of them limb from limb, ripping the life from their bodies and shattering their skulls. A plague on the Imperium, multiplying like bacteria. The only way to stop this rot would be to incinerate the whole planet, wipe them out for good. But it was too precious, that which lay beneath the dust and rocks. Liquid destruction.

He darted between shacks and alleyways in the direction of the camp perimeter. He picked up speed as the pathways widened. Comatose beasts lined the edges, too intoxicated to make it back to their respective abodes. They would be no trouble. A snotling wandered into Greyblade's path, its eyes widening with terror immediately prior to being punted over several rooftops. Ahead, a cluster of orks stood watching the figure approaching them, the great Astartes warrior could see their tiny brains trying to process what was happening. He picked up speed, leaping and cutting through them with his great sword, barely losing pace, too fast for the creatures to even make a sound. But his thudding footsteps in the heavy mud drew more of them out into open.

"Wossat?"

"Woss what?"

"Dat,"

Thramm pointed in the direction of the glinting figure moving toward him at phenomenal speed.

"Iss hurtin' my eyes lookin' at it, dat's what it is," Vubbla said pulling his cap over his face and trying to get as comfortable as it was possible for an heavily-armoured ork to get on a three-legged stool that groaned and buckled under his weight.

"I fink it's oomie," Thramm said squinting.

"Well go an' kill it den, an shut yer blinkin' noise,"

The night shift had been long and boring. Thramm and Vubbla had managed to secure a batch of Feakston's to see them through the night, but standing guard on the western gate to the camp was about as far from the action as you could have got without ending up in the mountains.

"Looks like a biggun, getcha gun Vubbla, look lively,"

"Look lively? Iss your blinking turn on watch,"

"Yeah, iss called _watch_, not _get chopped up_."

"Awright, quit your moanin', where is 'ee de…?"

Thramm and Vubbla's bolters dropped to the mud. At least they would have been partly relieved not to have experienced the full force of the hangover that had begun to kick in.

Captain Greyblade leapt through the gates before the bodies of the ork guards had hit the floor. Gunfire and shouting had erupted behind him. There was a fair distance of open ground to cover before reaching the safety of the mountain range, and the sounds of the ork war machines firing up echoed in the dead air of the valley. He tested his paces to its very limits, kicking up plumes of dust behind him. He turned to see a vehicle with a mounted heavy flamer come roaring through the gates smashing and splintering the one side that hadn't fully opened. Orks of all sizes and states of battle-readiness came pouring out to follow. There was still too much ground to cover. Greyblade skidded to a halt and turned to face them. No more hiding in the shadows. He was not going to be hunted down like prey. He is the predator, and they would feel the wrath of his sword that he held before him. Still. Focussed. Without fear. Without mercy.


End file.
